“Oh, wow,” said Brielle, eyes big. She looked at the waitress. “I’ll have the chicken, too.” The waitress thanked them, took the menus and headed to the next table to take another order.
“Does that mean you can’t swim in the ocean?” asked Brielle.
“I never thought about it,” said Damon. “Not too many oceans around Michigan.”
“What else are you allergic to?”
“Not too much, anymore,” he said. “Mostly just nuts and shellfish. When I was little, my moms said I only had rice cereal and lettuce to eat, I was allergic to so much stuff.”
“No peanut butter?” she asked, aghast.
“For some reason,” he said, shaking his head. “I can eat peanut butter and jelly. But, like walnuts and pecans, they are the worst. I have an epi-pen in the car. I’m supposed to keep it on me but it messed up the line of my suit.”
“So, if I had seafood, you couldn’t be around me?” asked Brielle.
“Yeah, I could,” he said. “But I couldn’t kiss you or my lips would swell up.”
Oh, well,” said Brielle, laughing. “In that case, I’m glad I got the chicken.”
Sasha
“So, you are working fries tonight and you’ll help with the drive thru”
Sasha pulled her McDonald’s shift shirt over her head and down over her burgeoning belly. She sat down on a folding chair in the back of the restaurant and struggled to retie her black shoes. Tying shoes over her belly was a chore. Sasha couldn’t imagine that she was going to get any bigger.
“Okay,” Sasha replied to her manager.
Sasha had quit the nursing home the night of her date with Clifford. She didn’t want to face him and she didn’t want another wrestling match in the car. She didn’t want Clifford touching her, not ever again. Gail helped her get the job at McDonald’s after begging the manager to give her a chance, but Sasha didn’t know how long she could do the work. After only ten days her back ached from standing at the fry machine for hours. She took orders sometimes but handling the rude, smelly, leering customers was almost worse than getting popped by grease and sniffing fry oil for hours. At least at the fry station, the conversation was limited to large or small fries and for here or to go.
All evening Sasha rotated between the freezing drive thru window and the fry station. She was thrilled when she could go back to the fry station to get warm. McDonald’s was crowded all evening, with all of the employees hopping and running. Sasha bagged up the thousandth bag of fries and turned to take them to the front and the next thing she knew, her feet slipped from under her and she was flat on her back.
“Oh my God! Are you all right!” screamed one of the cooks, a young man named Kyle. He ran over to her and dropped to his knees.
“Tell me you’re okay!”
“I think so,” said Sasha. She tried to sit up and winced.
“Lay down,” said Kyle. “Don’t move.”
“Are you all right?” asked Kelsey. Sasha could hear customers asking questions and offering advice.
“I keep telling them they need to put a better mat down in the winter. Grease and water are so slippery,” said Kyle.
Sasha heard the orders keep coming. She could hear ringing and order taking. Other employees stepped around her to complete their orders. Another person went to find a bucket, broom and mop. Sasha felt as though she was covered in French fries. She could feel them over her hair and chest.
“They shouldn’t even let pregnant women work at McDonald’s,” said Kyle, patting her shoulder. “It is too dangerous!”
Kelsey shushed Kyle but wouldn’t let her get up so Sasha spent the next ten minutes looking up at the grease stained ceiling until the pain hit. Her whole back and abdomen clutched in agony as though squeezed by some giant unseen hand. Then Sasha doubled over in a fetal position until the ambulance came.
Sasha stayed in the emergency room, alone and terrified, for hours while they ran tests, made her sign tons of papers and drained what looked to Sasha like all the blood in her body, just to make certain that she wasn’t threatening to lose the baby. Sasha wished she would lose it. Then she could go home and mama wouldn’t be mad. The doctor came into the room. She was tall, with a graying bob, granny glasses, and wearing green scrubs.
“Good morning,” she said. “I’m Dr. Fisher. How are you?”
“I’m okay,” said Sasha. “I just fell. I’ll be fine.”
“Are you still in pain?”
“No, it stopped,” said Sasha. “I’m good.”
“Well,” said Dr. Fisher, eying her chart on the mobile medical unit and kept up a running commentary. “That seems to be true. No more chain restaurants for you, Miss Lady, for the rest of your pregnancy, eating or working. Falling is bad for mama and baby. Fast food’s not too healthy, either. We are going to get an ultrasound, just to be sure, okay? If that looks good, we’ll let you go home. Is someone here with you?”
Sasha shook her head. The doctor eyed her closely.
“Is there someone we can call?”
“I’m staying at the shelter,” said Sasha. “I’m not supposed to give out the address and telephone.”
“We have it,” said the Doctor, with a smile. She checked Sasha’s vitals, patted her on the arm and bustled out of the room, promising to try to get back to Sasha before she discharged.
A few minutes later a male nurse called Steve bustled in and wheeled her to the ultrasound room, keeping up a commentary and asking her questions about the terrible weather outside. The ultrasound technician, named Amy hooked her up to a monitor and spread cold jelly on her belly. She explained every move she made and soothed as she went.
“I’m scared,” said Sasha, staring at all of the machinery surrounding her.
“It’s okay to be a little scared,” said Amy. “Every new mom is a little scared
